Silver Gray Book II, Sylvia Trick Sword
by Mechalich
Summary: As Luciela's Awakening leaves chaos in its wake Sylvia must work with Celeca, the Claymore sister of the human woman who sword she bears, to halt a deadly storm of vengeance that threatens to destroy the Claymores from within.
1. First Thrust Clouded Beckoning

Silver Gray Book II, Sylvia Trick-Sword

**Silver Gray Book II, Sylvia Trick-Sword**

**Author's Intro: **This is the second portion of Silver Gray, the story of the Claymore Sylvia and those lives that touched hers. It begins three years after book one and approximately thirty years before the manga begins with Clare meeting Raki. As there are inevitable references to the events of book one, readers are encouraged to read that tale before beginning this one. This story will deal heavily with the effects and aftermath of Luciela's awakening, an event that received little detail in the manga. It is not intended to conflict with canonical events.

**First Thrust – Clouded Beckoning**

The low ebb and flow of the fickle wind brought the tang of yoki through the air. It was strong here, filling that strange other sense possessed by half-human half-yoma, a continual presence that did not fade as it did in other places. So it always was in the region of Sutafu, where the organization made its home. Sylvia knew this well, she recalled it from those very first years when she had been only a trainee and not a warrior. They were not kind memories those, but then, it was rare for a Claymore to have anything pleasant in her past, perhaps even impossible. That was a truth Sylvia accepted.

Returning here was strange, to this land filled with yoki, a yoki unlike that which diffused in the air of other lands. It came not from yoma in this place, not from the murderous impulses of those demon beings, but from half-human half-yoma alone. That did not make the yoki any more pleasant, but it did give the very air a frightful familiarity, a sense of blending that seemed somehow improper to Sylvia. _I do not think we were meant to be so concentrated as this_, she considered. _Training might make it necessary, but like the yoma we come from, solitude is our way._ Considering this as she walked the road she shook her head briefly. _Is that the truth? Or do I simply fear to stay close to others after the many years alone._ She was uncertain, and turned her thoughts to other matters.

It was only the second time she had traveled back to the organization's base in her entire career. The only time previous had been five years ago, when she had brought back a pair of swords found by fishermen in a river, gravemarkers washed away in a spring flood. If not for that unusual event she would have never returned at all. There was no reason to, Sylvia knew well. Only the highest tier of warriors ever received orders directly from the organization, and even that was unusual. There was little business for Claymores in Sutafu, the yoma avoided this place mostly, they were not stupid, and the men in black handled the business of each warrior.

_Now we are all called back at once_, Sylvia shook her head as she probed at that truth once again, turning it delicately about in her mind, and wondering. _Why?_ She had learned the truth by piecing together stories from travelers, from merchants and other humans on the roads and even two other warriors, met in passing. Every warrior called back to the organization's headquarters, and all given the order to arrive on the same day. So far as Sylvia knew, and as a warrior with thirteen years experience she knew more than most, it was unprecedented. _Never before has this happened, to bring us all together. I can see no reason why, and many good reasons not to._ The organization was built on the strength of blades, but also reputation and Sylvia had learned this, through the crisis she had suffered past. From her own posting, in the west, it had been a journey of over a month and a half, and several warriors would have to come yet greater distances. Three months travel in total, and in that time there would be no one to slay the yoma in her own region, or any other. All across the continent villages would suffer, trade would grind down, and yoma would feast. There would be a chaotic retaking afterward, and many would curse the organization and the silver-eyed witches. Some men might even dare to take up arms against the organization. Most of the warriors would scoff at such a thing, but Sylvia had learned that it could be a true menace. _Humanity will hate us for this, and it shall make everything harder._ _The men in black would not make these sacrifices for no reason, so why? What is so important as to call us all together here?_

It was late in the day now, and the sun hung low in the sky behind Sylvia as she approached the facility where she, like all the other half-human half-yoma warriors, had been changed and trained. She could feel the yoki of a great many warriors before her, the greatest concentration of power she had ever felt before. It grew clearer with each step, and soon she would be able to make out the signature of individuals within that mass. The Claymore knew she would be among the last to arrive, perhaps even the last. It was not by design, she had no intention of being late or not being prepared, but there had been an accident on the road this morning, and so she had been delayed waiting with a farmer thrown from his horse, dressing the wound as best she could and staying until another man came by and she could turn him over to his care. It had not been kindness, exactly, that moved Sylvia to do such a thing, but a sense of duty shared among travelers. _I am numb to many pains now;_ she treaded in her regret, _but not yet heartless. I would not turn away when it cost me nothing but a little time. _She tried not to think on what other warriors might have done or not done. _We all have our own way of holding ourselves in this place. _

The road opened up into a wide flattened field, the grass pounded down by the endless trod of trainee Claymores. Those trainees were not here now, but the field was busier than it had ever been. Loosely scattered about, alone or in small groups, were the patches of white that marked out each of the organization's half-human half-yoma warriors. They did not in any way take up the full space of the field, vast gaps stretched between them, but Sylvia could feel the sense of crowding here. This place was not truly meant to hold so many of them.

_And how many are we?_ Sylvia wondered. She began a count, not with her eyes, but with that other sense, the yoki sense, feeling each pattern and flicker of essence. It was a quick thing, for though her sense for yoki was far from the best among them, at this distance such a thing could be done easily, and Sylvia had an eye to take in things wide and narrow. _Forty-two_, she noted. _We are forty-two, counting myself. Five are missing, but which ones? _A little deduction provided part of it. _Numbers Forty-one, forty-four, and forty-five are not here of course._ Those warriors served in the northwest, the furthest place on the continent from this land, and with few roads and many mountains between them and the outside. No doubt it had been considered too much trouble to call them here. The other two were more curious, and Sylvia was at a loss until she realized something unexpected. There were not enough powerful presences. _I sense only seven with the strength of single digits, when there should be nine._ She could feel the powerful yoki of the number three warrior, a presence she recognized even from a distance, for she had served together with that woman not seven months gone, but nothing stronger. _Where are the number one and number two? Does this thing we are called for involve them somehow? _It was a puzzle that sent dark bells of warning ringing through the warrior's mind. She did not like unusual things, for it was in the unusual things that warriors' lives ended. Nevertheless, that was a matter for later, when the men in black chose to address them all. For now, Sylvia had happier goals in mind as she walked down among her brethren.

As she descended the low slope Sylvia was meant with many strange and sometimes even disgusted looks from the assembled warriors. She kept her own face easily composed, having expected this, even becoming used to it over the course of the past three years. There were whispers as well, and she caught a few, no doubt meant to be overheard given that they all knew each others' preternaturally adept hearing. 'Sylvia Short-Sword' they whispered in those conspiratorial tones, giving her the unusual name she had been labeled with. Confusion and the anger that could flow from confusion were behind that name, but Sylvia understood its source. It came from difference, something that many among them feared, though it was not acknowledged. _The organization tries to make us all the same, warriors stamped out from a transhuman mold. We are all still wildly different on the inside, but they have shaped us to present the same face to the world. That I violate that scares many. _It was indeed obvious, for Sylvia, unlike all the other silver-eyed, silver-blond haired, white-uniformed warriors, carried a shield on her left arm and had a sword that was not a claymore belted to her left hip. It was a broad-bladed sword, single-edged and slightly longer than her arm, and the organization's granted symbol was not on it. A human sword, that weapon was, and so it was considered inappropriate by many, though they could not have said why. Sylvia was proud that it was a human sword, for it was Tyrin's sword, and even as it pained her to recall why she bore it, there was nothing else she carried with even close to such pride.

Not all of the Claymores looked at Sylvia with suspicion. Many gave her brief smiles, or little waves, or some other, simple acknowledgement. These were the warriors she had met in her service, and they were numerous indeed, perhaps half of those present. It was a heartening thing to see, but it brought forth another, somber recollection. _So many have I served with,_ she recalled. _Thirteen years, so long, yet so short._ _There are these, and there are also the fallen._ One face in particular rose above the other recollections, a head held easily in a hand, a quirky, spiteful smile on the face. _Lynne,_ Sylvia's inner voice was bitter. _I am thirty now, as you wished, but how many have died where I survived? _That birthday had come on the long journey to this place, and now, reflecting, Sylvia wondered, looking at the warriors about her, how many of those present would see her age, or past it. She was not the oldest among the Claymores, but only a handful stood older than she at a mere thirty years. It was a desolate thing to look upon.

A shining beacon broke though such desolate thoughts, as the warrior turned to meet another face from her past, this one alive and well.

"Sylvia!" a voice bright and smooth and lovely cried out.

"It is good to see you Racquel," Sylvia turned to meet the younger warrior, holding out a fist to meet the one extended toward her.

A bright smile beamed back at her from a luminous face. While the three years since their meeting had not changed Sylvia at all, the nature of the un-aging half-human half-yoma, Racquel had matured even as she remained young. Her teenage face had become that of a true woman, and it had only made her more beautiful. Almost, Sylvia was jealous, but if there was a moment when such a feeling threatened it was buried instantly beneath the warmth of reunion.

"Three years then," Racquel smiled, her serene and lovely voice satisfied. "A long time, but you look well. The sword suits you, you've changed a little to carry it, I think."

"Perhaps," Sylvia held her arms steady; she had taught herself to avoid fingering Tyrin's blade when it was mentioned. That was improper and foolish. "I think you have changed further, you are a true warrior now, and strong. Do you mind telling me your number?"

"I am number eighteen now," Racquel answered, confirming Sylvia's prediction that she would become a stronger warrior. The older Claymore suspected Racquel would rise farther still, in time. She had a grace and serenity that served her very well in battle. "And you? Surely that sword brought you a new number as well as a name."

"The organization has seen fit to make me number thirty-one," Sylvia replied, though without pride. Her skills had increased it was true, but even though she had now mastered Tyrin's sword and the human swordmaster's way of fighting, it was of less use against the everyday opponents of a yoma hunter. Not that she truly cared what her number was. She would hunt yoma regardless of rank, and that was enough to be content with. Sylvia did wonder though, if the organization might not have given her a higher number if she was younger. _Surely they do not expect me to live many years more_, she recalled the dark suspicion. _But I will disappoint them in that. I bear too many memories to simply give up. _

"So you two are friends Racquel?" a new voice, easy, focused, and casually confident, interjected.

Sylvia turned and noticed that another warrior stood beside Racquel, someone she had simply overlooked in her rush to greet her old acquaintance. She was fairy ordinary looking, having a simple, satisfied face, everyday pretty figure, and ordinary build for a half-human half-yoma. Even her hair was simple, cut to neck-length and swept to each side to form a smooth line all around her head. Had she been human she would have looked like any farmwife or town lady. Except she was not human, and that hair was not everyday brown but a shining platinum blond, as close to white as Sylvia had ever seen on a Claymore, and it shattered the illusion of simplicity in a shocking fashion. It made her wonder why this warrior kept the look; she must know its incongruity.

Racquel answered the question for Sylvia. "We served together three years ago, it was a difficult time. We share a bond, us, and those who did not survive." She cast her eyes down for a moment, an action Sylvia mirrored.

"Ah," the other warrior looked slightly abashed. "I guess it's always like that," she shook her head slightly, but then looked straight at Sylvia and held out her right hand. "I'm Caitlin, number twenty-two. I've heard about you from Racquel and others. I've wanted to meet you, Sylvia Short-Sword," she smiled.

Sylvia paused for a second, and then reached out her own hand and clasped Caitlin's. _She seems in earnest, which is strange; I do not know her at all_. It was puzzling to Sylvia, but she supposed another warrior might share her curiosity for the doings of their kind. It was nice to be met without hostility for a change. "A question, if I may," Sylvia asked. "Racquel, Caitlin, you two have been here longer than I, does anyone know the reason why we are called here?"

"No," Racquel replied, and Caitlin simply shook her head slightly. "Not even the single digits know," the lovely Claymore continued. "I spoke to several."

"There must be a very serious reason we were all called here," Sylvia explained, the worry deliberately kept back from her voice, but she knew Racquel could tell she was serious. "I have never heard of even ten warriors being gathered for a single task, so what could bring us all together?"

"We hunt yoma, and sometimes the awakened," Racquel mused. "That is the only thing we do. So shouldn't it be that?"

"All of us to fight together against some foe?" Sylvia felt a cold sliver of dread crawl deep into her at the mere thought of something like that.

"It could be…" Caitlin's face was clouded, but her words did not hesitate. "Perhaps Riful? …Or Isley?"

That was a truly grim suggestion, and Sylvia felt fear at hearing it. Even having no more than rumors to go on, and no experience with truly powerful awakened ones behind her, she could comprehend the terror of those legendary beings. Yet as she considered it instantly revealed itself to be an impossibility. The things she had learned from Tyrin about war and campaigns clearly ruled against such an action. "They might indeed gather us all together to challenge one of the Abyssal Ones," she acknowledged Caitlin's idea and her forthrightness in bringing up such a frightful possibility. "But they would not bring us here. Riful dwells in the west among the mountains and Isley in the north, upon freezing glaciers. They would have assembled us in those regions; it would be pointless to have us march weeks out of our way."

"Could there be a similar threat here?" Racquel's fluid voice was hesitant, tentative. "An army of yoma? Some gathering of the awakened?"

"Something like that we would have heard of traveling here," Caitlin noted. "An army of yoma would send humans fleeing across the continent, as would any march of the awakened." She grimaced. "Someday hell may open up and such an army march, but it is not now."

"Yes, I do believe you are correct, and thankfully yoma and awakened ones hate each other enough that such a thing is unlikely," Sylvia kept her face perfectly placid. Caitlin did not know, and did not need to know, of Katherine, and the army she had made. That was one secret she hoped Racquel too had preserved. It was not mistrust of her fellow warriors, but any among them might awaken, and then such knowledge would become a weapon against the organization. "Yet, a dangerous target might be out there," Sylvia recalled what she had learned walking here. "The number one and number two warriors are not among us. Could they have gone rogue, or awakened? I could see us all being assembled to attack two such powerful enemies, though I wonder what use I would be against such an opponent."

Racquel offered Sylvia a smile. "In some ways, you are much stronger than your number, Sylvia. The top two warriors are Luciela and Rafaela, I have not met them, but I heard from other single digits. They rarely go on missions, and supposedly they are sisters, but no one knows for sure."

"Sisters?" Sylvia and Caitlin spoke together, united in surprise. Almost all half-human half-yoma were lone girls, taken when they were the only survivors of yoma attack or some other tragedy. Siblings were an impediment, for a sibling old enough could take responsibility for the other, preventing the organization from claiming them. Sylvia knew that did not always work, she was tasked to find Tyrin's younger sister Celeca, likely still an organization trainee, but those two had been remarkably far apart in age and Tyrin had been far away. To find two girls who were both young enough, had no other relatives, and had managed to survive together was very unlikely. That they had proved strong enough to be number one and number two was even more unexpected. A virulent suspicion took hold of Sylvia as she ran this through her mind. The organization was something she fought under, but not something she trusted. Half-human half-yoma were pawns to the men in black, valuable pawns perhaps, but still pawns. Luny had practically declared it to her. _Something is special about these two single digit sisters, and I think it concerns why we are here. Have they awakened together? Please no._

Bravado was an affliction that plagued many warriors deeply, but not Sylvia. She did not want to face two awakened ones of such power, it seemed suicide. _If that is the order, I will go, but I hope fervently it is not._

"Could those two have gone rogue?" Caitlin asked Racquel, even her poised voice faltering some.

"I don't think it's likely," Racquel answered. "I mean, if the organization really does watch them closely, how could the black card have been missed?"

"That's true," Sylvia felt a little relief. "All single digits are watched with greater scrutiny than other warriors, and few things could threaten the number one and two such that they go over their limits by accident." She did not feel confident, but it seemed unlikely. "I do not have any good ideas then, and this has not been a very heartening exchange. Perhaps it is better to simply wait and not brood over dark possibilities."

"Sometimes that is best," Caitlin nodded, and Sylvia felt some small glimmer of affection for the other warrior. She thought they might work well together in the future, should it ever happen. "The men in black are up on the ridge," the forthright warrior pointed a white-gloved arm to the dark silhouettes, glowing with the last light of the sun about to set behind the trees.

"More than I've ever seen together," Racquel breathed, and Sylvia nodded in silent agreement.

As she watched, the men in black standing before the dug in doors that marked the myriad entrances to the vast network of cells, rooms, and halls sunk beneath the ground of Sutafu that formed headquarters parted, and a single one stepped forward. Two warriors walked behind him.

Sylvia did not recognize the man in black, and at this distance it was hard to make out much difference in the features of those scowling men with their held in expressions in any case, but she could see the resemblance between the two warriors. One had long hair and the other short, but otherwise they were much the same. _So, these are the sisters,_ Sylvia noted. _I cannot sense their yoki!_ She realized with a start. _Why? Have they suppressed it completely, as if trying to hide?_ It took a great deal of effort and control to do that, Sylvia knew it from her own experience. She could not fathom why anyone would do it all the time. It was not without consequences, a warrior who suppressed could lose their awareness of the demon half within, and when they needed to call on it, they might lack the familiar resolve to hold back the rush. She had heard of that happening, had even felt something like it herself, after repressing her own yoki for two days once, when hunting a canny yoma.

The man in black motioned Luciela and Rafaela to a wide patch of open stony ground before him, so that they stood some distance from the line of men in black, closer to the warriors who waited below.

"Warriors!" the man in black began, raising his arms, calling all to look and focus on him.

_Tell us then,_ Sylvia waited, her hand twitching, uncomfortable, wanting to move away, to grasp her sword hilt. _Why have you called us here? Why must every warrior be present? It cannot be good, the only good news we ever receive is no news. That is our life. _She knew this, accepted it, but she saw a new darkness coming now, and wished she could meet it prepared.


	2. Second Thrust The Claws of Arrogance

Second Thrust – The Claws of Arrogance

**Second Thrust – The Claws of Arrogance**

"Warriors!" the man in black was unknown to Sylvia, but his voice was powerful, carrying easily to all the widely scattered half-human half-yoma. "We have called you here to witness the beginning of a new fate for your kind. We have long worked to solve the difficulties of your existence, and today you shall see the first step of the solution!"

Very little in that statement gave Sylvia comfort or hope. She no longer possessed much trust in the organization's plans and schemes. Luny had long been straightforward with her about the nature of her task, but many men in black were not, and this speech smacked of such deceptions. _They would not have called us all here for good news, she recognized. That would be kindness, and there is no kindness from them to us. Are we here to clean up some mess? Or are we sacrifices somehow? _Sylvia scowled in her mind, but kept her face clear as the man in black continued.

"Now you will see the very first demonstration!" the black-shrouded speaker thundered on. "A demonstration of how awakening can be conquered! Of how that which is most feared can be tamed!"

Somewhere in Sylvia's stomach a pit of darkness took root. Her eyes scanned the crowd looking for Luny, hoping to find that one familiar man in black and somehow gauge his reaction, but it was too far. Her body tensed, and the demon strength of her yoki, buried deep in the confines where she kept it bound, stirred, whip-coiled. _Something terrible is coming_, she heard the voice in her mind, not her own. It was the voice of Tyrin, the steady human soldier who had experienced many conflicts, and knew their weather. This echo of memory was hardly needed as a warning, all around her the warriors cringed with strange suspicion and the occasional gasp of tearful hope. None was calm.

_No_, Sylvia noticed, _there are two who are calm, the two who stand apart_. Luciela and Rafaela stood as stone upon the saddle of the ridge, as if they had heard nothing.

"Watch now!" the man in black commanded, and forty-two pairs of eyes snapped to the end of his pointed hand, to spear through the sisters who stood as the organization's preeminent warriors.

They were oblivious.

"Begin!"

With the command given there was no pause, no dramatic moment of silence or waiting, no theatrics. All was silent, and no one moved, but chaos raged.

Yoki surged, a monstrous torrent, as Luciela allowed her power to rampage free. In seconds she was at the limit, her body rippling and distorting, monstrous energy expanding muscle and bone, leaving a face only barely on the edge of humanity. Then she pushed past it.

Her body, once so small and so like that of all the others, grew. She became tall and lanky, stretching into a sinuous vast cat-like thing. The face bent and crumpled, with a strange many-faceted mouth emerging fierce and dripping with hunger. Massive claws split forth from what had once been fingers, and a serpentine tail, split into multiple lashing whip-blades, emerged behind this ferocious form.

Sylvia, stunned to immobility by the incredible rush of yoki energy, could only watch, as could forty-two other warriors. They had no idea what to do.

"Now, return!" the man in black's voice broke the silence. "Rafaela!"

There was a growl from the massive creature that had so shortly been a warrior as Rafaela, her sister moved closer. The number two warrior's lips moved in a repetitious series and her face gave off a picture of incredible strain. It was then that Sylvia gained a glimpse into what was intended to occur. _She is supposed to pull her back! It is_… she faltered for a way to grasp it, and then stumbled upon on, only partially fitting. _Like the anchor on a ship against the current… But can that work? Does this…Luciela…want to return?_

"Turn back, turn back, turn back…" Rafaela's voice was now becoming audible as her words grew louder, more forced.

Luciela's great, cat-shaped body shook and shivered and for a moment it looked as if it might work. Sylvia did not dare to hope, she was at the point beyond grasping for the future, full of fascination of the death-filled present.

Rafaela's hand reached out and brushed Luciela's leg. "Sister…" the number two warrior, half-human half-yoma, gasped. "Please…" the twisting tails, shifting through the air, stilled. "Come back."

The great awakened form hissed, and then twisted to bend around and down.

In that moment Sylvia's eye broke away from the enveloping suction that was Luciela to follow something else, a much smaller object. It slid free with that last twist, falling from its shattered harness to slide slowly to the ground with an audible clatter.

The sword of the number one Claymore.

Demon eyes, burning with something that all the watchers knew from deep within their own bodies, turned to look at that suddenly small construction of metal and mineral.

Ever so slowly the massive feline claws opened and closed.

"Luciela?" it was half question, half plea.

The response was a sound that Sylvia would never forget. It built slowly, starting without any confidence and then growing stronger and stronger until it overwhelmed all other sounds, all reason, and blasted everyone before it with absolute despair.

The laughter of an Abyssal One.

"Sister what is…" Rafaela's brushing touch became a grasp.

A single twitch of the tail, impossibly fast, practically unseen, and Rafaela was thrown to the ground, crimson blood blossoming across the side of her face.

"Luciela?" the voice was filled with surprise, desperation, and something Sylvia recognized as a sense of absolute, total failure, an emotion she had experienced only once before, the day Tyrin had died.

"Luciela! Turn Back!" it was a plea, filled with anguish, regret, and love, the emotional power shocked the composed Claymore who heard it, hardly believing the depth of passionate feeling coming from a half-human half-yoma.

It was completely futile. Luciela did not even turn, but only growled and hissed, flexing her claws.

They all stood frozen, not a single warrior moved. All could recognize how hideously wrong things had become, but in the face of these events they had been struck still, action was beyond them.

"KILL HER!"

Sylvia recognized that voice.

"Kill her now! Before she masters her form!"

That was Luny's voice, shattering the mirror of terror that held everyone, Claymore and man in black alike, imprisoned in inaction. It was a simple, practical, and absolutely necessary command.

Their shock dissipated the assembled warriors recognized the new reality they were faced with, and they acted on this first command.

Sylvia was not the closest warrior, nor was she the fastest, but she had one advantage in getting to Luciela before her comrades. Tyrin's sword was easier to draw than the back-holstered claymores every other warrior wielded.

_I cannot kill her_, Sylvia knew as she charged, her yoki unleashed all the way to her own limit immediately, sharpening the world and providing her with an increase in speed and strength she desperately needed. _We might not be able to altogether, but now is the best chance._ Luny's command was grounded in reality. Awakened beings often did not have complete control of their forms and powers in their earliest moments, and moreover, until they had fought battles in their new form, might not be aware of its strengths and weaknesses, something Sylvia had seen for herself fighting the awakened Katherine. There would never be a better chance for this company of forty-two warriors._ I need to go for a limb, try to strike a tendon, limit her maneuverability, and force her to regenerate. That is the most I can contribute._

Metal boots pounded against the hard ground as Sylvia charged forward, echoing in and out of time with the thunderous steps of other warriors as they joined this desperate all-out assault. Yoki beat down upon them all; the vastness of the force awakened by Luciela now added to by two score more warriors unleashing their powers as far as they dared. No one there had ever sensed so much before; it hung upon them, purple-black and thick, a grisly presence strong enough that, had it been visible, it would blot out the sun.

_In this madness I cannot sense yoki to any use!_ Sylvia recognized this limit; her abilities in that area could not pierce these clouds of sensation. _I must use my eyes then, and find the one chance I shall receive. _

She closed, and the new abyssal one lurched into motion, bladed claws and tails lashing about before her, idly, unfocused, as if they were insects before her.

It was not easy to find any chances to strike. Sylvia reflected in horror upon the massive size of Luciela's new form. It was so large she would have to jump up to reach any vital areas, to expose herself to the merciless power of gravity, to hang in midair, utterly vulnerable, for long moments. _I need her to extend away, then I can go for the right arm, she is favoring her left side._ It was not a hope, there was no hope here; it was simply something that could be latched onto, a piece of comprehension that made action possible.

Then she was there, and she must strike or circle wide.

Luciela lunged, and her claws slashed forward, using both arms like a cat would even when only one was needed. Another warrior, to Sylvia's left, barely blocked that incredibly fast blow, but she was thrown backwards all the same, flipping and rolling through the dirt from the incredible power of it.

_Now!_ Sylvia, the organization's number thirty-one warrior, and the only one among them to bear different weaponry, made her first strike against an Abyssal One in her thirty years of life.

Luciela was blindingly fast, cat-fast despite her massive body, but she was focused elsewhere, and Sylvia was not aiming for any critical point, simply the side of an so recently extended forward, going for the joint, to sever the tendons and vessels behind the elbow.

Tyrin's training had taught Sylvia to read the movements of others, to understand the timing behind certain maneuvers, to gauge speed and know what was possible and was not in certain timeframes. Against a human, or a half-human half-yoma, or even ordinary yoma, with their consistent ogrish bodies, that wisdom, combined with her many experiences of battles, provided a certain insight that could be turned to great advantage.

Against the awakened, every one unique, it was far less useful.

Sylvia flew through the air, coming up with her blade high, to cut down and rip a long gash along the rippling muscle of the abyssal one's arm. If she succeeded the arm might be useless for a time, giving others an opening to exploit. Perhaps that could be a beginning.

She never knew if she was the first Claymore to draw a piece of the third Abyssal One's blood.

One of the lashing tails, impossibly fast and able to contort and twist as ably as any marsh eel, slashed under and then around, slamming Sylvia from the left.

At the last moment Sylvia had a hint of it coming and she shifted her body's weight ever so slightly in that instant.

The iron-hard razor blade of the tail end slammed into Sylvia's shield, Tyrin's shield. Metal screamed, buckled, and then shattered. The shield fragmented into cracked pieces, and the tail's path continued.

Cold fire burned through the half-human half-yoma's body as her left arm was seared off just above the wrist, a terrifying pain coupled to a sickening sense of disappointment and loss.

The tail's arc was unfinished. The shield had served some purpose, shifting force and direction. The blade passed not through Sylvia's core, but deflected downward, slowed. As the Claymore's body continued upwards it cut down, slicing across the right knee, severing that limb clean as well.

Tears and blood mingled in Sylvia's eyes as she tumbled spinning through the air. Pain raged in her, terribly great, threatening to overwhelm her control. _No!_ she shouted, perhaps in her mind, perhaps aloud, she could no longer tell, the air was filled with cries of struggle, pain, and agony. _I will not lose control now! Not this way! No! Not ever!_ Tyrin's face rested in her mind, sheltered far down, beneath any place the pain of her body could touch, nestled within a cold, sharper loss, one that forced her to retain control instead of loose it.

Her sight blurred red and yellow by blood and yoki, Sylvia barely managed to see the ground as it approached. At the last she turned her body and her arm enough to take the impact with shoulder and swordarm, metal and bone shuddered, but did not break, half-human half-yoma flesh being strong enough to accept such an impact.

Her face lay down in the cool earth, sucking breath in and out through clamped teeth. Slowly, frightfully, Sylvia regained her control of her yoki, pushing it down from her limits back to the normal level, unreleased.

Around her the battle raged on. Her eyes faced down so she could not see, and her body would not obey any orders to move, but her ears were open, and they heard. The ground shook beneath her, transmitting its terror by touch, and soon, all too soon, the crimson metal scent of blood filled the air. Behind it all, the great thunderheads of yoki raged.

_I cannot fight_, Sylvia knew. She was crippled, and her lost limbs, if they even survived, had fallen behind her in her spill. She would not be able to even stand until this battle was done. _My effort is exhausted_; she accepted that with salty bitterness. _I can only hope for others to succeed where I failed._ That, she gasped in another breath through the continuing pain. _And survive_.

The clang of swords, and the less sound of metal ripping flesh, echoed above and behind Sylvia, and there were shouts and screams, pain merging with despair, feeding off each other. It was horrible, nothing had disturbed her so since Tyrin's death. Nothing had ever made her so afraid.

Then it became much, much worse.

Yoki surged a second time, great torrents of demon energy pouring through a half-human half-yoma body.

_No! No!_ Sylvia knew, even with her senses clouded by blood and pain, what had happened. Where she had maintained control in despair and terror, another had failed, had reached down too far and gone over the edge. A single digit for certain, and now the battle between Awakened and Claymores was also between the Awakened themselves.

_What can I do to stay alive?_ Sylvia knew few options in her present condition, but there had to be something. She could not crawl to safety; it would only expose her to try. _Can I suppress my yoki and hide?_ If she did that the awakened ones ought to ignore her, they would think she had perished from her wounds. It seemed a good plan, even as an acknowledgement of helplessness, but soon Sylvia realized it would not work. _My wounds are too severe, and who knows how long this battle will last. I must use my energy to heal, or I will bleed to death, but I dare not expend any yoki or I will draw attention to this body. _With gritted teeth and a strange sense of irony, Sylvia realized she could do nothing but endure. _I think this may be how humans feel when they think on the way of the world. _

The battle raged on. The first awakening was not the last. Sylvia could not be sure how many ultimately occurred, but at least two other single digits surely did, and perhaps a half-dozen weaker warriors. The awakened threw the battle into complete chaos. Half-human half-yoma scattered and clung to life, striking out whenever they could, dodging and weaving, and dying when these desperate maneuvers failed. The awakened wielded claws, teeth, and tendrils against each other, dealing out horrific wounds to bodies whose shapes Sylvia could not even comprehend, seeing them only as hazy shadows of yoki.

In the end, the awakened gave each other no mercy, and when the battle finished all had fallen, save one. With a roar more terrible than any lion Luciela proclaimed her triumph as the last awakened being fell, her body crushing a warrior in its death throes. Sylvia worried then that there was no hope, that this new Abyssal One, the product of the organization itself, would exterminate them, would end them completely.

This did not occur. Luciela was wounded grievously, her new body all but shattered completely, and her strength utterly spent. She dared not face even the handful of warriors who still stood to oppose her. She did not roar a second time, but simply fled, a monster of their own making.

_I…live…_ Sylvia felt a moment of silent relief then. _How…many others?_ She wondered when that relief had passed, and tried to reach out, to feel their yoki, but her senses failed her. She was exhausted, and could not keep any focus. Her eyes, buried in the dirt, closed slowly, her will was not enough to keep them open now. _How many?_ It was her last terrible thought before the night swept over her.

**Author's Notes: **I apologize for this taking so long; there have been distractions, and work, so it's been difficult. I hope to keep a better pace with the rest.


	3. Third Thrust Within the Crisis

Third Thrust – Within the Crisis

**Third Thrust – Within the Crisis**

"Wake up! Wake up Sylvia!" a stiff hand shook her flesh to accompany these words. "You have to wake up now, you're still bleeding a trickle, and you've lost enough blood as it is!"

The voice was without warmth, it had all the musicality of rocks being struck together, but it was still welcome. As much as anything could be welcome in the wash of dizzy memory that poured over Sylvia now.

"Luny?" at first it was a question, then it was a demand. "Luny! Why? Is this your plan, to destroy us all?"

"Stop!" Luny's voice was commanding, and his bony fingers dug into her body, lifting and pulling, turning Sylvia's ravaged form onto her back, so she faced the morning sunlight.

"You dare to tell me to stop?" Sylvia could hardly contain her outrage.

"Yes!" The man in black, his face still hidden behind his dark cowl, snapped. "Save it!"

"I will not simply accept…" she began, building up to a frightful stormcloud of rage, emotion that demanded release.

"Save it I say!" Luny barked. "Later! There will be time for all that later! For now, dealing with the survivors trumps all! Now, close you wounds."

These words drained away some of the fury, if only for a moment, and Sylvia realized just how weakened her body felt, how powerless. She looked at herself and saw for the first time the wounds she had taken. Her shield, Tyrin's shield, was shattered, and an unclean and wretched collection of scabs marked where much of her forearm and hand ought to be. The cut that had severed her leg was cleaner, but it had gone just above the knee, and a slow dripping pattern of red still oozed forth.

It took all the energy Sylvia could muster just to exert the little yoki it took to close that wound, and her head fell back against the ground, grunting with the effort, after she had done so.

"Eat this," Luny shoved a chunk of something against her mouth, not gently. Feeling the texture Sylvia opened, chewed, and then swallowed. It was a wedge of cheese, made from goat's milk for certain, and foul tasting, but she knew it brought energy. Luny shoved another, larger, wedge into her mouth thereafter, hovering over her as she ate. Then he placed a canteen above her face and poured. "Swallow, gulp by gulp, you need this, and you know it."

When she had drunk several mouthfuls he stopped. Carefully he positioned her right arm, the one arm still with a hand, on her stomach. There his wrinkled hands placed the canteen, and the rest of the block of cheese. "You will eat and drink it all, and you will not move beforehand. Do you understand?"

"Yes," Sylvia did not waste energy to nod, recognizing how seriously she had truly been wounded. She would do as he said. It would be enough to give her the strength to hobble about, and then to find more food. _I can recover fully, given time_. Sylvia had never been wounded this badly before, but she had lost limbs in the past. She was a defensive warrior, they could be restored.

Luny got up, and began to turn away, when a single thought, impossibly urgent, flashed through Sylvia's mind. "Wait, wait Luny," she begged, feeling weak and pathetic as she never had before. "I must know, how many, how many are left?"

The man in black did not look at her, turning away. "I do not know. We're still searching through the field." He shook his head, and for a moment, just a moment, all his guard was gone and Sylvia saw a grim and horrible truth. Luny, in his way, cared and grieved for this mistake, but it was this that marked him out from so many of the other men in black. They, she could sense, did not. "Not enough," he concluded.

"Get up when you feel able," Luny said as he walked away slowly. "Eat and drink as much as you can, and start to heal. There may be others you can help."

After Luny had gone Sylvia waited a time, letting the warmth, the energy of food diffuse a little through her body, bringing strength back to her limbs a little, allowing her to silence the pain that still raged through her body. Only then did she dare sit up partially and look out onto the battlefield.

Sylvia had seen things even few other Claymores had seen: armies of men and yoma fighting together, a half-human half-yoma slain by a human sword, bodies of men ground up into a press to make paint for a yoma's twisted sculptures, and more, but she had never seen anything like this. _Before this day, no Claymore had seen a real battlefield, such as the humans have, the killing field, now_, Sylvia knew with absolute clarity. _We have_.

The flesh lay in great piles; rot had begun to set in immediately, characteristic of the corrupted flesh of yoma and the awakened. Clouds of flies and flocks of birds swarmed and pecked. Blood pooled and flowed from one place to another, among the corpses both large and small. Here and there clean bits of steel could be seen, or a flash of white yet unstained, but for the rest red-stained mud colored all, a cruel display, as if the earth itself had been ground up in the mouth of some great giant. There was sound, but also a great silence, for the voices of the dead made no sound, yet they were there.

_Nothing I have ever seen has been like this. How many of my kind, how many half-human half-yoma, lie in the mud? How many friends? How many of the only ones who can understand what we are? How MANY!_ Sylvia sobbed, the sorrow pouring out as her eyes darted across the battlefield, catching the still faces and shattered forms of her former comrades, and worse, the ones twisted by awakening, faces still human but bodies lost, going into death as monstrous things. Above it all was the one simple realization: _this did not have to be, they did this, this…experiment!_

_There will be no forgiveness for this. Loyalty yes, I will obey my orders, will do what I must, but I will not forgive and I will not forget. Even if I am the only one who survives!_ After she swore this oath Sylvia collapsed back down, the sobs continuing.

It was sometime before she regained control of herself, she might even have slept. There was no way to know. Knowing this Sylvia refused to be idle any longer. Carefully but quickly she ate the rest of the cheese and drank the canteen to the last. Then, working slowly and carefully, using a skill she had been forced to learn once before, she detached the harness for her sword and planted it upright in the ground. The massive, long blade could then be used to pull her upright, and as a crutch in place of her lost right leg.

As she stood, more pieces of metal crumpled away from her left side. Sylvia looks down at the pieces of Tyrin's shattered shield. She managed, with difficultly, to sheathe the sword at her hip, but the shield was gone. _I will find a man to make me a new one, just like this one. I will, as soon as I can. _The shield had saved her life yesterday, and Sylvia would not abandon it.

Then, as every step burned, she hobbled through the wasteland to seek out any of her comrades who remained. She would know the answer to her question.

They were eight in all, gathered in a circle, seated on loose stones. Eight half-human half-yoma, all that remained of the forty-two who had fought against Luciela. They had many different numbers, but they were not strong. Only one among them was a single digit, Rosalie, number seven. All had been wounded severely, and none had escaped without losing at least part of a limb.

Racquel was among the survivors as was Caitlin, and Sylvia had been filled with joy at that realization, that at least as few she knew lived yet, but every time she thought on it she only recalled the many others who had not survived. She also knew that Rafaela, though not among the dead, was not with them. No one had an answer for that, or anything else, yet.

It was Rosalie who addressed them all now, these pitiable survivors who had gathered. Sylvia knew her, they had served together once before. She was a steady, forthright warrior who was ready to command and confident in her powers. Her pale silver, almost gray, hair was kept cut short, halfway down the neck only, a military cut that made her appear older than a warrior ordinarily would, and authoritative. Whipdraw Rosalie, as she was known by many for the eye-blink fast draw-cut maneuver she used, would be the kind of warrior Sylvia would have been glad to serve under in other circumstances. Now, that no longer applied.

They were all scarred and reeling, wounded, but Rosalie was injured deeper than the loss of both her legs that she had suffered in combat. Something had been drained out of her by this engagement, and her confidence, her steadfast valor, was not there, not as Sylvia recalled it. _We all look older now, changed, devastated. We have all lost something here, some more than others. What have I lost? _She did not know, and she did not know how a mirror would answer her in that moment.

"I suppose," Rosalie began, grimacing in pain from her wounds, and embarrassed at having been propped up on a rock by another. "That I am now the number one warrior, in a sense, but I will not speak that way. It would not be right to line ourselves up as if we had earned advancement, not today. I am number seven, and for now that will have to serve. I hope the rest of you will join me in holding our old numbers until such a time as we may gain new ones, though I don't know when that will be."

Sylvia nodded along with the rest, there was no opposition.

"First," the single digit continued, trying hard not to frown. "I wish to congratulate all of you on being with us. In that chaotic madness too many fell, far too many. I want to say that whatever you did to survive, whatever it was, there is no blame. No cowardice, no shame, nothing of that sort can be carried from this. I will not have it. We survived, and as victory was impossible on that day, we must take survival itself as all we could hope for. I will not dishonor the memory of the fallen by wishing to join them."

There were nods at this, but many were reluctant, and Sylvia could understand. She herself felt some shame at surviving, lying bleeding in the mud as the whole battle raged, and she had been powerless to do more. Others might have run, or hidden behind the swords of others. She knew then that she would never ask, never place blame. Rosalie was right, to live through it was enough alone.

"Beyond this, I am uncertain," the words tore out of Rosalie, and the suggestion of tears formed behind them. "I do not know what happens next, what we should do, or how we should proceed. We have a choice to make, and we will make it," her voice grew momentarily iron hard. "However, first there is someone come to speak with us, and I ask that, no matter your anger, he be allowed to speak."

With these words a man in black stepped forth from the shadows behind the rocks.

"Why shouldn't we gut the bastard?" a warrior to Sylvia's left growled. "They killed us! Almost all of us! How about we kill them until the dead are even and then we let them talk!"

"No!" Rosalie did not shout, but her voice was infused with an echo of the single digit's old command. "If vengeance is our choice we will make it, in time, but first we will hear these words. We will not kill the messenger, not the one who has risked his person to speak to us now. We are not yoma! We shall behave like men."

There were grumbles, and angry noises short of words, but no one moved.

Sylvia recognized Luny's figure in the man in black before them, but she said nothing. He kept his cowl up, and she did not want to make this in any way personal. He had told her to wait, and so she had waited. She would get her explanation now, one way or another.

The way he began surprised them all. "You are right to be angry," Luny said first of all, and several audible gasps filled the pause before he gathered himself to continue. "Mistakes were made, and thirty-four warriors paid the price with their lives. We had our reasons to attempt what we attempted, and we had our reasons to believe it would succeed." He paused again, and took a deep breath.

For the first time in her life Sylvia saw a thing the man in black said with the full truth behind it. _He does not believe that._ She comprehended in sudden shock. _He never believed in this trick of Awakening, the men in black were divided on it! _It was not possible to fully comprehend the impact of that realization in that moment, but she understood there was sincerity here. Luny actually held some measure of guilt for these events.

"Instead, there was a failure,' the man in black continued, slowly turning to face each of the eight in succession. "That was regrettable. It was also regrettable that you, any of you, were present." He looked down to the ground, not meeting their gazes. "I believed," and Sylvia recognized how significant it was that Luny used the term 'I' here. "That your presence provided insurance, that in the case of failure the assembled host of warriors had the best chance of stopping the Awakened number one. That," and his gravelly voice filled with real emotion. "Was an error in judgment. The vast number of warriors only increased the chaos and made the carnage worse. It would have been better, in hindsight, to have only the other single digits present, or perhaps no warriors, and simply accept the result, come what may. That mistake cost many lives, and while it is of no use to apologize to the dead, I wish to make certain you know that such a thing was never intended and it is deeply regretted."

Sylvia would never know what the organization as a whole felt regarding Luciela's awakening, and later events would not make her opinion a generous one, but from those words she always knew that some of the men in black, at the very least one, were capable of admitting they were wrong. It was something as important as anything else she would ever learn.

"However," and with that one word Luny banished all the emotion and regret from his voice. "That is the past. What remains now is the present." His head rose and he faced the warriors again, one by one. "Some of you no doubt wish to take revenge, to make us pay for the lost friends and comrades. I tell you now, that will accomplish nothing. Will you battle the trainees and try to strike at us? With your few numbers and many wounds, could you succeed? Even if you shattered our warren and drove us to ground we would rise again. It will not bring the dead back. All die and half-human half-yoma die sooner than most. Don't throw everything away simply because a few have lost a handful of years." That last statement was callous and cruel, but true. The lives of Claymores were short, not more than a handful among the fallen could have reasonably expected to live even ten years more after yesterday no matter what happened. "Do not think that destroying us will somehow save the world." Luny's voice rose, filling with power and energy.

"Will it drive away the yoma? No! Will it end the lives of the awakened ones and abyssal ones, now three in number, abroad in the world? No! Will it save the lives of any human who might die at their hands! NO!" Now Luny drew his black robe inward, and his body seemed to condense. "That last is the most important of all. Your existences, the lives of all you warriors, save the lives of humans. Your horrible fates are paid with in unshed blood. Eight of you stand before me; three more reside far from here. Eleven warriors in all, eleven out of forty-seven, and the hunting of yoma goes on. For every life that was lost yesterday human lives will be lost by the dozens. That cannot be changed, but if you raise your swords against us more will be lost. If you should desert, thinking, and it is likely true, that we no longer have anyone to spare to hunt you down, then the number falls away from eleven. More humans shall perish, and the lives of those who stay shall be all the harder. Every one who drifts away now may take a comrade who remains with her into the darkness."

"So we are just to go back to our duties," this voice, interjecting, was Caitlin's. "We pretend that nothing has happened?"

"This organization controls your feet, and your swords," Luny answered, swift striking without turning to face Caitlin's question. "What you do with the rest of you is not our concern. Requests will still come, and they must be met, or humans die. If you feel such things are meaningless, feel free to try and claim your revenge, or whatever peace you can seek, but remember the price that comes with it."

_Damn you Luny! Damn you forever!_ Sylvia could see what had just been done, and she understood why it would work where so many other men in black would have failed. Toying with their desires, their pleasures, their quirks as so many men in black did, would not have worked, it would not have held back the rage, and the betrayal fury waiting in them now, but this, this was different. He had made it their choice, had laid their actions against their humanity, had dared them to deny that side of them, the thing all of them valued the most, to turn their back on their ability to show human guilt and compassion. _What you have just done is so like you Luny, just as when you had Lynne killed. Fair and just, but impossibly cruel. You are indeed reasonable, may you burn for it!_

"Now then," Luny went on, carefully and deliberate with his words, making sure he was heard. "I suppose you will each decide as you will. There is no forcing you, not now. Even so, let me say something about what will happen should you maintain your duties." Eight pairs of ears turned in to listen, though their hearts boiled and loathing, outward and inward, simmered in the air.

"There are eight of you here, three others in distant lands, so eleven veteran warriors." Luny gave a single shake of the head. "Eleven is not enough. We shall immediately take what trainees we can and make them full warriors, but even with that done we shall manage perhaps twenty-two or twenty-four warriors, barely half strength. For the future training will be accelerated and many new trainees will be brought up quickly, but, given the certainty of high casualties with such a practice it will take at least two years to reestablish our strength and have the organization functioning properly. It is these two years that will be the heart of the crisis, when each of you, regardless of number, will be so valuable. We shall merge areas together, doubling the coverage each of you must patrol. Team missions will be curtailed, and though we shall simply not face the most dangerous threats such as powerful awakened ones or strong nests, the difficulty of the average mission will surely increase. You will have to use experience and discretion to preserve your lives. This is not the time for heroic self-sacrifice. There will be other days and other battles with yoma. For now we must simply keep the organization's operation steady enough to prevent catastrophe and the people losing all faith in our ability to protect them. The chaos unleashed by that would bring a bloodbath and perhaps even the yoma ruling over the continent."

Heads nodded, for all this made practical sense. It was harsh, but it was a real plan, a plan that could work, and by presenting it Sylvia realized that Luny was influencing them. His option, though it offered no vengeance, no justice, returned the familiar to them when it had seemed almost entirely washed away even as it gave them a powerful purpose. _Before was the stick, this, then, is the carrot_. Cunning Luny, Sylvia thought. _Yet, I think even without that, there is little other choice._ She was a hunter of yoma, and more, Tyrin had charged her to live. So she would live on hunting yoma, not throw herself at the organization in futility. _Neither, will I forget, and I shall do all I can to make sure none of us do. Our feet and our sword does not include our tongues._

"It makes the most sense to begin soon, to give the yoma no additional time to run free," Luny concluded. "As soon as each of you heals enough to travel provisions will be provided and you can head out to new areas. The first may be able to leave next morning." He turned away from them all, and then slowly, ever so slowly, turned back. "I had almost forgotten. It is unpleasant, but on that subject, there is one other thing that must be addressed."

"What?" one of them, it did not matter which, asked.

"Four of you are offensive warriors, four of you defensive, but all wounded," Luny spoke matter-of-factly, emotionless. "That has to be dealt with."

"How?" it was Rosalie who spoke now, for she was an offensive warrior. "We cannot recover! I watched as Luciela crushed my feet beneath her claws!'

"True, but there is another option."

"What? You can't-" many voices spoke at once.

"Stop!" Luny's hand slashed through the air, invoking silence. "It is necessary." His eyes searched around the circle, meeting Sylvia's first, and then searching, searching, finally settling.

"Number twenty-two, Caitlin, come forward," his hand jerked her outward.

Sylvia watched Caitlin step from her rock. The younger Claymore carried only one major wound. She had lost her right arm just above the elbow. It was easy to see, now, that she was an offensive warrior from the way the injury remained; it had not begun to regenerate.

"Sylvia," Luny spoke the single word, he did need to say anything more. She understood what he intended. Carefully, using her right arm to hold her sword as a crutch, she hobbled forward to stand beside Caitlin.

"You can't do this," one of the others spoke, half-panicked. "It's wrong, it's a violation!"

"Maybe so," Sylvia replied without turning, looking straight at Caitlin, and she saw regret, but also agreement in those silver eyes. "But nothing we say will remove the necessity."

Caitlin nodded, silent, somewhere between tears of joy and sorrow.

"I can't do it myself," Sylvia felt horrible, powerless, speaking those words, but her left hand was little more than an elongated wrist now. It would take some time yet to heal enough to have a grip. "Racquel." She did not want to burden a comrade she did not know well with this. She trusted Racquel, who had been there when Lynne died, to understand.

"Are you sure?" Racquel's serene voice asked carefully, not even acknowledging Luny's existence.

"Do it."

In a single smooth sweep, Racquel's sword leap out, up, and then down.

There was a single flash of frozen pain, a terrible instant when loss flooded through everything and yoki attempted recklessly to escape. Sylvia's will, never firmer, slammed it back down just as swiftly.

Bleeding only a little from the perfect slice, Sylvia looked down to see her severed right arm grasped in Caitlin's good left before it touched the ground. The calmly capable warrior turned ever so slightly and Racquel struck again, taking a tiny sliver of flesh from the stump on the right side.

Slowly, tenderly, and carefully, the number twenty-two Claymore fastened the arm of the number thirty-one to her right side. Yoki moved, squirming and wriggling in the wound. Flesh knit, blood vessels connected, and muscles and tendons attached in new, but the same, places. Time seemed to slow down, but eventually the wound closed and the flesh was all but seamless, only a slight difference in coloration indicating there was any difference.

Caitlin, hesitant and filled with trepidation, flexed each finger one by one, commanding flesh not truly her own, but now part of her. "Thank you," she told Sylvia.

Silent, Sylvia simply stepped back to her stony perch. Her mind was in that moment empty, she did not know what to think, if anything, of this event.

"Next," Luny pointed to another warrior, and three times more the cycle was repeated, the defensive warriors giving pieces of their bodies, their yoki, to another, as close in number as could be found. Sylvia did not watch, but looked away; somehow, she did not want to observe this happening to others than herself.

When it was done Luny grunted softly. "Well, I will leave you to make your choices, new assignments, outfits, and equipment will be supplied in the morning." With that he turned and walked away.

All watched silently until he was beyond earshot.

"I think the points that were there to be made, have been made," Rosalie spoke first when the man in black was gone. "We must swallow our anger, for now at least, and serve as we were meant to serve." No objection was raised. "However, anger is not the same as fear. The image of Luciela haunts me now and forever, and I shall not go back to my task the same as before. If any do wish to leave, if they feel they lack the strength to continue this work, then go. You may choose when, and how, but no blame shall be placed, and there should be no shame. We were never ready, can never train to be ready, to face that kind of despair."

A chorus of nods replied to this.

"Beyond that, I will charge you all to remember this, and to spread the word, first to our three other comrades, and then to those trainees who follow. We cannot allow the organization to silence this, or leave a lie behind. Luciela was of their making, their creation, and their decision. All the lives she takes, all those she ruins, the responsibility is entirely theirs. We gave every sacrifice we could; we have paid more than our share. We must remember, so that over time, they pay theirs."

_Yes, I agree,_ Sylvia said silently. _This is not something to be forgotten. We must fight through the dark years to come, so that the truth of this is not lost within the crisis._ She could not hold her sword properly now, but she managed to wrap her left elbow around the hilt and extended it into the circle. "I will carry this memory, and all of you, with me."

Seven other swords, many just as awkwardly held and balanced, joined her own, crossed in the center. "Until our paths cross again!" Rosalie intoned.

"Until our paths cross again," the others echoed, and then the swords were raised up and placed away.

_Alyssa, Caitlin, Cherie, Elsa, Marie, Racquel, Rosalie, and myself, Sylvia, we are the eight who survive this day. Linked by shared flesh, shared memory, and shared loss. I am neither the strongest nor the weakest among us here, but I swear, I shall not forget or fail this charge. Perhaps that is enough._

Author's Notes: This is an extremely busy chapter. There's just a ton of important stuff in here, much of which won't get referenced or fully explained until much, much later. In a way this is like the moment the seven principles in the manga all woke up after Peita, that event shaped so much of what follows. Anyway, there is more aftermath to come, and the next chapter will feature something of a departure of method, as I'm going to switch to Luny's viewpoint for the first time.


	4. Fourth Thrust Roots of Blackness

Fourth Thrust – Roots of Blackness

**Fourth Thrust – Roots of Blackness**

Sylvia watched, silent and unable to speak, as Caitlin flexed her hand again and again, slowly opening and closing the borrowed flesh with a strange fascination. "It's odd," the offensive warrior began to explain. "It feels like my own, even though I can tell it's not. The movements aren't as fast as I was, but your strength is actually a little greater, and the yoki is different, foreign, but somehow…not."

"Is it manageable?" Sylvia did not know what to say, but she held a wordless dread that her arm would be in some fashion inadequate to the higher ranked warrior's needs. That functional inquiry seemed to be enough.

"It'll be fine," Caitlin flashed a brief, mostly false, smile. "Once I get used to it. Your yoki is actually greater than I would have thought, for someone who was once thirty-eight; I think you don't use it as smoothly as some."

"I have no desire to swim in demon bile," Sylvia replied, not angry, but firm. "I use it at need, and keep it away and held tight otherwise."

"If that works, it works," Caitlin's second smile was a bit more sincere. "Well," slowly she leveraged herself upright. "I suppose I should say goodbye now. With your help I'm more or less ready to go, and I can rebuild my strength traveling. For the rest, my thanks, and I will see you, or not, as it goes." She reached down and extended her hand, her left hand, to Sylvia.

With fingers raw and barely formed the older Claymore took that had and grasped tightly till there was pain. A piece of her was going with this warrior, a woman she had only met two days previous and barely knew at all. Yet, somehow Sylvia was glad to have met Caitlin, and glad to have provided her a small piece of assistance. _I do not know what to think of it, wrong but necessary, but the sense of violation fades rapidly. Is that good or bad? I do not know._

"Oh," Caitlin added one last thing as she let go Sylvia's hand gently. "I will try to find out what happened to Rafaela, as you suggested. That is something they did not tell us, and it worries me. Should any of us learn the truth, it will get passed along."

"Thank you, and may you endure the days to come well," Sylvia said by way of goodbye.

One last time Caitlin nodded, and then she shouldered her sword and turned away, walking west, to the lands where yoma waited.

Sylvia watched her going, knowing the she too would begin the walk soon enough. Her leg was healing well, and soon she would be one-armed but walking, and that would be it. The duty would wait no longer.

_Luciela has gone south, they say_, Sylvia thought as she waited, having little to do. _That is a small bit of chance run our way at least. She will not meet the others, and hopefully will be quiet as Isley and Riful have always been. We will not need to stand against her_. She dreaded the thought of trying to face any of the Abyssal Ones. _Survival might be possible, but the warriors to strike down such monsters are none that I know or have heard might be. Will there ever be half-human half-yoma with a power to match those who have left the human half behind?_

That was a question almost as dark as the one that had haunted Sylvia since shortly after meeting the other survivors. _They did not create Luciela in an attempt to spare us the trials of awakening, so long as we die beforehand that is not a problem for the organization_. She knew that much, and there was no kindness for them from the black robed-handlers. _So why did they try to create her in the first place? What reason could there be to create something so monstrous?_ Sylvia was far from certain she wished to know the answer to that inquiry.

Luny's black robes itched, walking through the halls of their demesne. He knew the reason they itched, it was all the dust absorbed from his walking around outside on beaten ground trying to organize everything needed by the warriors and the newly promoted trainees. He hadn't changed or bathed more than a bucket of water over the head since the experiment failed and everything blew apart on their very doorstep.

He was not happy on that account. It was not that he had a problem pulling the half-dead bodies of warriors out from under piles of rotting awakened flesh, or forcing cheese down the throats of recalcitrant warriors hardly willing to believe they were alive. That was important work, and he'd never shied away or complained from that kind of labor. It was tangible, it produced results you could measure: after the battle no warriors ready to go, two days later, three had already departed and the rest would be on their way with less than a week passed, and eight recently promoted trainees as well. Whose work had accomplished that? Luny's, and a spare few others,' that was who, and it was as good a job as could be managed under the circumstances.

The man in black simply wished he'd had just a little more help at that task.

He really didn't have the details on what everyone else had been doing. Ferreting Rafaela off to some private cell deep in the bowels of this rambling maze they nominally called home that much was something he'd figured out. It was probably for the best anyway, he wouldn't have put it past the others to take out their wrath on the former number two. _And damned if they didn't have cause_, Luny thought, shaking his head inside the deep cowl at the memory. He stilled a shudder at the recollection of those eight faces, bearing their wounds physical and deeper, staring at him, just barely holding back from the urge to fill him with a half dozen large narrow holes. Luny had faced anger, hatred, and any other hostile emotion that could be named from the half-breeds before, but this had been different. It had not been possible to figure out why until the constant business finally wiped away any logical thinking and he realized that their rage had affected him so heavily because he, to a degree he found almost terrifying to contemplate, shared it.

Luny had forced the warriors to shelve their anger, to put it away and carry it in silence, another burden added to them. It was not well done, those wounds would fester, and steps would have to be taken to mitigate the side effects of the mitigation, but it had been done. They had shelved their anger, and as a result they had been robbed of their chance to place blame for this tragedy on anyone. _Of all the tragedies of the half-breeds this one is the only one clearly not their own fault, and yet they must completely swallow it up_. He found he could not accept that. _Well, they will never know, but it will not be as complete as they think. I am not pleased, not at all pleased, and with our council called my voice at least will be heard, and perhaps something of theirs will make it into it. That is about as much as they will ever get. _

The passageway widened into a wide chamber, men in black seated high in deep chairs, recessed into the shadows. They were many, greater in number than the warriors they controlled, much greater, for they had far more important duties than simply shepherding those women around, handling their weapons with care. It was rare for so many to be gathered together, but they had all been called upon to come back for this mission just as their minions had. Now they too would have their council to deal with the consequences, only their numbers had not been reduced.

Luny recognized them all, knew the faces from a long time, they all did, their fellowship was unique in that sense. His gait changed too, as he walked among them, straightening, becoming more forceful, focused, not the slightly enfeebled mask he played out before the warriors. With a single motion of the hand he swept back his cowl, barring his wrinkled bald head. That was not necessary, many wore hats or wrappings about their heads at all times, but it was an old courtesy, and Luny held to it. Besides, it showed them the scar, and he wanted them to se that.

The man in black did not finger the stark white line, he had forcefully rid himself of that habit the moment he realized he was developing it. It was enough to know it was there. Others stared at it, some having never seen it before this meeting; the scar given to him not by yoma, awakened, or half-breed, but by a human woman. _If she lived, I think I would thank her for it, now_, Luny mused. _I learned an important lesson from that, one I suspect this disaster was required to teach the rest._

They had not been silent as he approached, and they were not as he arrived. He was neither first nor last, and all had been muttering in small groups, as they were wont to do. Luny slowly moved up to the front, so he stood facing those who sat as their leaders. He was not alone up front; there were others near the front, prepared to speak. One stood out among them, a tall man in a broad-brimmed hat and darkened glasses, his body held with immaculate, utterly confident poise.

That man was well known to Luny, and he grimaced to see him.

Rubel.

Luny did not like the man, he never had and never would, and they were polar opposites in many ways. That Rubel was now here, planning to speak, was worrisome. _Have I been gone too long? Was something decided while I struggled to repair what little remained?_ Now he was worried, his hands clenched deep in his long sleeves.

"Ah, Luny, you are here, good," one of the shadowy leaders spoke up. "You can update us on the situation with those warriors not destroyed in battle."

That was as good a point as any to begin, and Luny was glad to be brought into discussion immediately, he would not have to fight to be heard. "The eight warriors who survived the battle are all proceeding to their new assignments or will be healed enough to embark by week's end."

"All of them?" an unknown voice called from the right, the endless interruptions and demands for clarity that were a constant part of these rare council meetings. "Some of the offensive warriors had been maimed beyond functioning."

"That has been remedied," Luny remarked with a bit of pride, he had muscled that solution past the warriors when they weren't prepared to resist it, he didn't think he'd have gotten away with it at any other time, some were no doubt regretting it already and would rather have died instead. But they won't cut their borrowed limbs back off, no one could do that, so it's accomplished. "Limbs were taken from the defensive warriors to replace the losses. As a result we now have four warriors who carry the pieces of others, which will alter their strength, but better that than they not fight at all."

"For the moment," there was a grim undercurrent to the next leader's voice. "That will do. What stands our full strength then?"

"We have eleven veterans, counting the three numbers in the forties not present," Luny answered. "The ten most ready trainees have also been called up and set out or will be inside of a month, giving us twenty-one warriors of varying strength. However, for the moment we have only one of top-five potential among them, and that a new trainee, so our upper echelons of ability are particularly limited."

"I see," this voice was known to Luny, being that of Rimuto, one of the most approachable of their leadership. "And what are our prospects for the long term, in your estimation?"

The subject was a dark one indeed, and Luny had thought about it a great deal in the past few days. He stood up as straight as he could and made an effort to speak clearly, keeping the gravelly mumble from his voice. "We can release another ten trainees within six months, and fifteen more at the end of the year. That would bring us to almost full strength of numbers, but the average strength of the various warriors would be significantly lower than before. Also, I can see no way not to expect high casualties. The many trainees will be very inexperienced, there will be additional combat deaths and additional black card deaths and additional awakenings. We will probably have only twenty-five to thirty warriors functioning at year's end, even with all the trainees added."

There was much muttering in the background at that, but Luny was not finished, he went on without ay significant pause. "However, with accelerated training and a growing core of veterans the situation will stabilize, in a year and a half, and then in two years I anticipate we will be able to add enough trainees to bring our numbers to full strength, and we should also have gathered sufficient warriors of single digit potential into active service at that time, though that is very difficult to predict, as we all know. Also at that time, we should be able to safely remove those warriors who have survived this event. They are a risk, but for now, the need outweighs that risk, so we will have to work to simply isolate the knowledge of these events. It should not be too difficult; they will be very ashamed to talk about it before trainees, whatever their intentions."

Rimuto nodded, seemingly content, but Luny was not, he continued on, recognizing that he might be saying unwelcome things, but that they must be said. "This all assumes no future calamity, most especially that there be no further action by any powerful at-large awakened being, abyssal ones or otherwise. At present we would be hard pressed to put together a team to hunt down an average level awakened being, an awakened single digit could prove impossible to stop."

"Do you expect that kind of crisis?" Rubel mused aloud from Luny's left.

It was not what the man in black wanted to hear, for the man in the hat and glasses had just undercut his point very cuttingly. "I must admit it seems unlikely, the awakened ones are quiescent and Luciela has apparently headed south, so there is no one in her way." There was more stringent muttering in the background, but Luny once more chose to press ahead. "Nevertheless, we cannot know that to be true!" his voice rose, speaking to them all now, trying to be heard clearly among the endless contrasting opinions and schemes. "We have no idea how Riful, or Isley, or any number of others will react to this sudden crisis, we have no idea of Luciela's agenda at all, and if there should be a new threat, we cannot address it with the present system!"

"Yet, you said yourself it was unlikely," Rimuto's voice was completely calm. "And at the moment, your own report indicates that there is nothing to be done. What do you intend Luny?"

"We should take steps to mitigate any crisis that might occur in the future, we must not neglect five years or five decades from now just because of present weakness," Luny answered. "We should increase the number of half-breeds in service; significantly increase, that way we would have more to work with in the future."

"That idea has already been proposed," one of the other leaders imposed. "And rejected." The tone was flat and final. "A few extra awakened roaming about are of little concern, and having to manage twice as many or more half-breeds would take far too much time and effort away from this organization's goals."

_So they did already decide! Damn! What else has been decided, what have you all come up with, hidden back here in the shadows, away from the blood and rot that lies before us outside?_ Luny kept himself utterly composed, for the moment, but inside he seethed. He was not like their creations, there was no yoma hunger in him trying to break loose, but he was raging all the same, his emotions burning with fury. _I have at least one other card to play._ "If you cannot have more warriors, at least have more trainees! We could triple the training cadres and lose little time at all, simply make classes larger."

"And what do we do with these extra trainees if we have no more warriors, what good are they?" someone called from far in back.

"It is no loss to dispose of an unfinished sword before forging is complete," Luny answered cavalierly, and in truth he did not much care. _They all die anyway, a few sooner rather than later are no matter. This continent has no shortage of orphans_. "But this way, if another crisis occurs, then we can replace our ranks immediately, without two years of vulnerability."

"This idea has some merit," one of the leaders replied with a short wave of the hand. "It could also allow us to select more carefully for certain talents. Luny you will form a committee to investigate implementation of this increase in trainee numbers as a component of our revised research plans."

_A component?_ The word ran through Luny's mind with the force of lightning. "A component?" he whispered aloud, and his eyes whipped about to Rubel. "What other plans can there be besides strengthening the half-breeds? Our other line of research has _failed!_"

The background muttering burst into a vast cacophony at this point. Suddenly everyone was shouting, speaking to all those around them, a raging debate with as many permutations and sides as there were echoes in the vast chamber. Luny had eyes only for Rubel in that moment, staring at the other man's obscuring glasses. _He knew, he knew_, Luny realized. _He knew, and some of the others, they've already decided everything, they haven't learned anything!_ Bitter bile burned in Luny's mouth, but he stayed silent. Let them speak, let them announce everything to him and the others who had been blocked out, then he would speak again, he would have his one chance, and Luny swore that if nothing else he would not be silent.

"One experiment failed," the words shifted, sentence by sentence, from one member of the council of leaders to another. "But even that failure was not complete. Rafaela remains stable and her abilities to control Luciela at lower levels of release prove the efficacy of the method beyond just theory. We will simply need to find stronger linkage candidates and improved methods of applying the resonance of yoki power. Even if failure occurred this time we will find a suitable candidate and master the process of bending the awakened to our will. It is that goal, and no other, that must be obtained for our ultimate victory." Rimuto finished what the others had begun, displaying their unity in this course. Rubel only smiled ever so slightly at Luny.

_No matter the cost, no matter the risk_, Luny shook his head in silence. He thought of the scar again, of the woman Tyrin, who had wounded him. It was that act, that bizarre and mad strike, that had taught him so many lessons, but one of them was awareness of cost. _There is a price to pay for the things we do._ Luny had learned that by having a bit of it transferred to it, when Tyrin made him shed blood for what he had ordered done to Lynne. _I do not shirk from that price, we cannot allow failure, but we cannot proceed as if it does not matter. Raise the price too high, and it will overshadow success completely._

"So you will find more girls and make them half-breeds and try to create more awakened ones who can be pulled back into humanity by the exertion of will. No one here will even look at another way?" It was largely a rhetorical question, Luny was just building to his point, but Rubel caught him, and interrupted.

"We have no other choice; even assembled all together the half-breeds could not defeat Luciela. We will never achieve what we need by that approach. It is a dead end, suitable for maintaining current affairs, that is all," Rubel flashed a demonic smile, for he had just cut the foundations out from under Luny completely, and he had used Luny's own words, spoken just moments before, to do it.

Rage burned blue fire in Luny; it was not the truth, not even close to it. The words were true, but it was the same kind of distortion and manipulation men in black like Rubel used on their warriors, trickery and deception, false promises and false hope. Luny had never accepted that approach, and he had never liked Rubel, this superior type with his refined graces and his imperturbable serenity.

Now Rubel had undercut him completely, before all the others, and it would be impossible to deflect them from this course now.

Luny lost control, he needed to do something, but he had nothing to say, there was nothing he could say that would matter, so he did not speak with words.

He had to reach up slightly to hit, but he first met Rubel's jaw just below the nose with a satisfying crack. It hurt, oh it hurt, bone to bone, but it was incredibly satisfying to watch the other man in black reel to the floor, his glasses scattered away and a look of complete confusion on his face.

"I learned something when that was done to me!" Luny shouted, his voice raw and hoarse, but he didn't care, even as arms wrapped around his own to restrain him, he still pointed both hands outward, one at Rubel, the other at the shadowy men on their recessed thrones. The thumb, index, and middle fingers forward, the other two back in each hand. He did not recall when he had adopted that gesture, but he hoped he remembered it. "I learned that we could still learn new lessons! You haven't learned that, so you will make the same mistake again, and again! You may do this; you may even succeed, but mark my words there will be another Luciela to come, more creatures we cannot control! I only dare to hope we turn from this before all control slips from our grasp!"

"Are you finished Luny?" Rimuto's voice was quiet, but brutally stern. "Do you intend to turn against us?"

"Never," he said, and he meant it. Luny suspected he believed even more than the rest of them, in his way. "The decision has been made, and I will simply return to my duties. I will have the new plan for the trainees as soon as possible."

"How commendable of you, to serve over such objections," Rubel sneered at Luny as he got back to his feet. "So very selfless of you."

"That is what duty is actually about, Rubel," Luny's voice ignored the existence of the hands restraining him, pulling him away. "You've forgotten that, if you ever knew, but as far as selfishness, well, one day, I'll see you dead. By my hand or another's it doesn't matter, but I will see that day come." That said he stopped resisting, and let the others pull him away, separate them.

_So, Rubel is my enemy forever now_, Luny thought as he was put in a small room to cool off. _Maybe that's better, everything is clear this way_. He knew it wouldn't mean the end for him. Men in black had made all kinds of threats to men in black before, and had done worse things than slam a fist into the face of another in front of an audience. They weren't like the half-breeds; they had not the solidarity of soldiers, but every bit of human infighting and treachery. It was just kept hidden down her, beneath the blackness that united their surface.

He was not alone either, he'd read the muttering and shouting. There were many others that objected to pursuing this line of research, and he had credit among them, for he'd been one of the few that opposed it from the very beginning. If there was another failure like Luciela Luny knew he'd be seated on one of those thrones and someone else would be disgraced in a dark room. Still, he wasn't about to scheme for it, he was no good at scheming. _I have work to do. I still have to stabilize this current crisis and plan the trainees for the future. The others are so concerned with our past and our far away hopes for victory that they've forgotten what has to be done here and now. We'll never win our war if we can't control our home ground, and this is our home ground now._

One thing Rubel had said did worry him, however. The warriors in their numbers had indeed failed. No he doubted, where before he had been certain. _Will there ever be a warrior, or group of warriors, powerful enough to fight what we call an Abyssal One?_ Luny was unsure, but he realized one thing, sitting there in the darkness. _There must be, for if that cannot be achieved, it shall be the abyssal ones, controlled or not, that rule the world. _

His heart dark, Luny resolved to look out for the warrior who was strong enough. If a thousand girls died as trainees it would not matter, if he could just find one and one alone, he could solve the mystery and build a path forward. _That would justify a very high price indeed. _

Author's Notes: Interestingly, this chapter marks the first real use of a canon character in the story, as both Rubel and Rimuto make appearances (and Luciela and Rafaela, acting out pre-determined actions, don't really count). I've tried to be true to what I imagine Rubel's character actually is, but we know so little about the men in black that it's very hard. As result there's a good bit of guess work and talking around issues in this chapter, but I'm actually fairly proud of how it worked out. The existence of factionalism within the group is predicated in large part of Miria's mention of a 'source' on the inside of the organization, which indicates they can't all be content with the ways things are going.

Amusingly, and it didn't occur to me until after I started writing this chapter, Rubel and Luny's relationship in some ways mirrors the museums after which they are named. Rubel, the Louvre, with his somewhat rarefied imperiousness and superiority, and Luny the Musee de Cluny, less noteworthy, representing the cruder middle ages, and involving artifacts with tedious labor involved, such as tapestries. The fact that they don't get along also makes sense, since they would have to compete for tourist attention.


	5. Fifth Thrust March of Sorrows

Fifth Thrust – March of Sorrows

**Fifth Thrust – March of Sorrows**

Scrape, scrape, scrape, back and forth Sylvia rubbed the coarse sand over the face of her shield, rubbing the yoma blood away bit by bit, restoring the shine of the steel. She did not look at the shield, there was no need, her fingers knew its contours well, and this task had been performed many times, again and again, for yoma had sticky blood, and Sylvia had killed many indeed since she had acquired the shield.

Her eyes peered not at could metal but bright flames from her small little fire. It was not much of a blaze, and provided no real warmth, but that was not something half-human half-yoma flesh required. All that Sylvia desired was to be distracted briefly by the flames, and to take some small solace from their vigor. Years ago there would have been no fire, but now Sylvia regretted nights when there was no time, or the rain was too heavy, or there was no fuel. The fire brought a sense of camaraderie to her otherwise empty camps, bringing back memories of the pleasant times, few enough as they were, instead of the haunting ghosts of silent darkness.

This night though, Sylvia had cause to turn her face from those flames, and wait for something else. She starred directly into the spaces between the trees even before the blot of shadow that was a black-cloaked and cowled figure emerged. _He continues with his little stunts even though I have learned to anticipate him almost every time. Is it just tradition?_ Sylvia wondered, and not entirely innocently. _Or is he saving up some trick for another day? _From everything she knew her man in black was not so awful a presence as many of their kind, but she could not trust him, not any of them. There was no longer even a temptation to do so.

"You are still awake, good," Luny began in his gravelly voice. "I thought you might have gone to sleep already, since I was a bit late in arriving."

"I figured you'd come tonight," Sylvia answered, looking away from the man in black. "I would rather not be awoken unnecessarily; a little missed sleep can be made up another day."

The man in black shrugged. "It matters not. Your work two days ago went well, though it seems you had to chase one of them rather far, and the villagers were somewhat reluctant to pay."

"I hope they did pay," Sylvia didn't like to think about what happened to villages who tried to cheat the men in black. The organization charged far more than she would prefer, but no one, not even half-human half-yoma, could wander about the world for free. Besides, the yoma could sense a village without protection better than wolves a lost sheep. "Those yoma were cowards, two tried to run in opposite directions, insuring one escaped. I had to double back because of it."

"They paid, I managed to convince them," Luny shook his covered head, letting the darkness hide his face. "Regardless it seems that new number suits you well. You will have more difficult missions from now on, I hope you are ready."

"One number or another the task is always the same," Sylvia grimaced a little. "And after these past years I doubt being a few ranks higher will spell my doom. Things are a little better, at least."

"In some ways yes, in others, perhaps not so much," Luny reached inside his cloak. "You are to head east to Jormelville, there is a pack of eight to ten yoma attacking peddlers and hunters in that region. Another warrior will meet you there to assist. However," the man in black paused, almost hesitant for the barest of moments. "There is something for you to do along the way." He pulled his hand free and flipped an object over to lie next to Sylvia's shield.

Sylvia did not need to pick it up to know what it meant, and she did not want to look at the small envelop, but there was no choice. Slowly she turned and picked it up with her left hand, and then pulled out the card within.

"No!" it was a gasp, tearing the breath from her lungs in shock and regret. "This cannot be!"

"I wouldn't lie about this, you are well aware of that," Luny grumbled. "As you might guess, she asked for you, that is part of the price you warriors pay, if you allow yourselves friendship."

"But, so soon? It's only been three years!" Sylvia's voice ripped hoarse and she was on the verge of tears, tears she had not cried in six years.

"You know as well as I that there is no predicting this; the limits of any individual as unknowable and vastly varied. Now," he paused carefully. "Do you intend to refuse this request warrior number twenty-five Sylvia?"

Slowly, placing the card on the ground between her knees and the flickering flame, staring at the familiar symbol blazoned now behind her eyes, Sylvia shook her head. "No," she whispered, and then again more firmly. "No. I will do it, I cannot refuse her, she has the right to ask this of me, but I never thought I would be the one to have to perform this task."

"There are many things that can't be predicted," Luny muttered, halfway to himself. "They have to be endured." His voice rose again, clearly. "If you march hard along the east road you should be able to meet tomorrow. That is all." He turned and slunk away into the cover of night, leaving Sylvia alone with tattered memories.

Long she sat; staring at the symbol on that card, until the flames had burned down to nothing and there was no light at all beneath the darkly clouded sky. She did not need light to see that symbol, it was there even with her eyes closed, accompanied by a face easily remembered, and before, always pleasantly.

Sleep did not come, and Sylvia did not expect it to, she simply waited for the morning to arrive, tormented by a single thought. _How? How is it that I endure, and she is lost?_

The sun was setting behind Sylvia, so that it cast the road before her in a brilliant spray of faded orange. _It ought to be red_; she thought bitterly, _that is the only appropriate color now. _

All day as she walked the half-human half-yoma traveler had listened intently, hoping to catch the sound of metal boots clicking on the packed earth of the road. That was the unique sound of one of them walking, instantly recognizable to a warrior of Sylvia's experience, but it was not to be heard today. Only the echo of her footsteps accompanied the ordeal of this walk. _She must be stopped ahead, having guessed how far I would travel during the day_, Sylvia understood the reason for this, traveling, indeed doing anything at all, was difficult for one on the edge, but it made her task harder for every inch she had to walk, the seconds ticking by to the inevitable awful action.

A copse of trees marked a bend in the road, and rounding it, the sun low behind her casting shadows before all, the objective of the mission Luny had passed to her was revealed at last.

Her figure was shrouded in shadow, but it would have been impossible for Sylvia not to recognize that face, still radiant and beautiful even as agony tore at the expression. The orange light of the setting sun caught on silver hair and gave back a pinkish glitter, a bright color that clashed with everything in the moment but would have fit perfectly in a different time. She smiled as Sylvia approached, face serene even as her body trembled and shook at the edges, the unmistakable sign of yoki barely held back by strength of will.

When she was not addressed, Sylvia was left to speak first. "Hello," she managed, her voice strained and all but reduced to a croak. Mastering herself and forcing out the proper manners, she added, "Racquel."

The silver-haired warrior smiled, that motion retaining the innate grace the rest of her body could no longer summon. "It's good to see you again, Sylvia," she replied. "You look well, unchanged as always."

There was something horrible about that statement, and Sylvia could not help but feel a bit angry. She knew Racquel had not desired to be mean, but it felt that way all the same. "You think I desired this?" she demanded. "That I want to live to see you die? I despise this! It is too soon, too soon, how can I still be here with you gone? It is not fair, and I do not support it!" She broke down then, sobbing, bent nearly double, but the tears would not come, she could not bring herself to dishonor Racquel by crying now, even as much as she wanted to show her sympathy.

"You would not offer to die in my place though," Racquel said, smiling. "And that is so much the better. You should live; we should all try to live, as long as we can. My time has simply run out, that is all."

"But how?" Sylvia still could not understand. "You are so young! So capable and strong; I heard the news that you were made number thirteen, you have such skill and promise."

"Ah, you have made a mistake, Sylvia," Racquel was still smiling; somehow, though the emotions flashed through her expression in an unending stream, incomprehensible. "I am not young, not anymore. I have been a warrior for seven years now."

When Sylvia moved to object, the younger warrior raised her hand in a pause. "One year before I met you, three years before Luciela, and three years since, you know it as well as I. I recall you told once that seven years was about the average for a warrior, so I do not feel so bad. As much as I might have liked to keep going, I can't anymore," Racquel paused again, drawing an unsteady breath. "I pushed it out for so long, cultivated a pure center nothing could touch. That was my way, but one day I let it in, a moment of confusion and bewilderment, and once in, I could never get it out again. I have lingered on a little while since, but that cannot last, I am at the end of my strength."

"I…I…" Sylvia did not know what to say. She had faced warriors losing their battle with yoki before, served black cards before, but Racquel was not like others she had known, they shared something between them, and she was so young, so young!

"So you see Sylvia," Racquel came slowly to her conclusion. "My life has not been short; it is yours that has been long. But isn't that a better burden to bear? After all, when I am gone some young girl has to come and take my place, become one of us. I would bear any burden I could to prevent that for even a minute, but I can no longer bear the one I carry. It has to be, one way or another, and this is the best way. I hope you understand that, and you'll keep living as long as you can."

It could not be refuted. Sylvia nodded slowly, and then raised her head up from the ground. "Yes," she told Racquel. "I have many reasons to keep going. I have no intention of losing to the beast within. I only wish you had not. Why choose me then?" She had to know that much. "You have other friends, other companions, including single digits, why choose an old warrior you surpassed long ago?"

"Strength means nothing for this," Racquel spoke quietly, her voice reduced to a shadow of its usual self. "I remember the battle with Katherine. That battle, that campaign, it was the best thing I ever did, the most important by far. Of all those things I've done since I take pride only in that effort, the rest is simply work. So if I must choose and end I want it to be connected to that, to the ones who fell before in that struggle. That means I have to ask you to do it, and besides, there is no warrior I trust more than you Sylvia. Some of us would refuse to kill a close comrade, but you could not be so discourteous, so matter how much it hurts."

Looking back the older warrior recalled the image of Racquel spinning through the air, slashing aside Katherine's tendrils and throwing her into the brush. She saved me then, Sylvia recalled. _Now I cannot save her life, but perhaps I can still act to save something else. It is not balanced, but it is the best I can do. _"Very well, I promise I will not forget you after this. You have been through much Racquel, and I think it is fair to say that you achieved triumph in your time."

"Perhaps, it doesn't matter anymore," she smiled again, bright and radiant as she had ever been. "But I thank you." Her right hand steady, Racquel raised it to point at Sylvia. "Use that sword," her finger directed unerringly at Tyrin's sword. "Just like Lynne, one cut straight across."

"Very well," Sylvia drew the single-edged broad blade.

"I will watch till the very end," Racquel whispered, staring straight into Sylvia's eyes.

_As you wish_, the warrior raised her executioner's blade, unable to speak the words.

She stepped forward and snapped across the distance with a burst of speed, bringing the blade across in a single cross cut, all the strength of her arm behind the blow.

Racquel never flinched.

Sylvia caught the head in her right hand, not allowing it to touch the ground, grasping the body with her left.

Tyrin's sword clattered to the packed dirt, breaking the silence.

Carefully the body was laid on the ground, head upon the breast. There was very little blood, aside from the initial spray caused by the blow. Her mind blank Sylvia intellectually recognized that Racquel must have restricted the passage of blood through her body at the last moment, wanting her death to be clean. It was a graceful action, restrained and so typical of her, it brought a teary smile to the elder warrior's face.

The smile remained, but now the tears came, as she saw the shovel Racquel had prepared, laid to the side of the road against the trunk of a gnarled old tree. "As graceful in death as in life I see," Sylvia sobbed. "How fitting."

It was not difficult to make a grave in the soft soil between the trees; a few roots were no obstacle to a good shovel and the strength of a half-human half-yoma. The sun had barely set by the time Sylvia had laid Racquel's body down and placed the sword into the newly packed dirt as a marker. There was no further ceremony or service to perform, and with a single last look of regret Sylvia turned away. _Nine years I have served more than she, and yet I continue to struggle while she perishes. Why? Are our fates truly so random as that?_ She knew better than to expect any answer to that from man, stars, or gods.

Unwilling to stay by the grave she had made Sylvia marched on into the night. It was better than anything else she could do, and walking hard helped to clear the mind. That was something Tyrin had once told her, and it was true, in its way.

Remembering that Sylvia realized something else that had escaped her in the agony of the moment. _With Racquel gone, I am the only one who lives to remember Tyrin, to recall the struggle with Katherine. I cannot allow that memory to perish, for Tyrin, for Racquel, for Jessica and Lynne, and for all the others. Death is not a luxury I can afford._

Her resolve somewhat restored, the half-human half-yoma warrior, old for her kind at only a few years past thirty, marched through the night. There would always be yoma to hunt in the future.

**Author's Notes:** This is a bit of an interlude chapter; it serves to help mark the passage of time, as I'm skipping over the crisis period after Luciela's awakening to move into the core story of this book, which involves Celeca (appearing very soon!).


End file.
